


The Hierophant and The High Priestess

by monsterleadmehome



Category: Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Clyde Logan is a Sweetheart, Con Artists, Curse Breaking, F/M, POV Alternating, Psychic Abilities, Sex Magic, Small Towns, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterleadmehome/pseuds/monsterleadmehome
Summary: Rey is a former con artist and current psychic with a neon sign. When Clyde Logan drives by her shop and gets the urge to stop in, he finds a lot more than he bargained for. Can she help him break the Logan family curse?
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Rey (Star Wars)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 168





	The Hierophant and The High Priestess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CardiganVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardiganVixen/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Dani!!!! I hope you enjoy this silly little Reylogan AU. <3 As a note, I am not practiced in tarot and looked up everything on [Biddy Tarot](www.biddytarot.com). Also I literally read one article about sex magic, so most of this is completely made up. ^_^
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, obsessivepropulsive.

Rey Johnson has always had a gift. Trouble is, it’s a pretty useless one. She was abandoned as a child, but had the relative good fortune to be placed with a decent foster family. The morning her foster parents died, she awoke with a strong feeling in her bones—as if something was trying to tell her today would be a dark day indeed.

The house exploded while she was outside at the neighborhood playground.

She had only been fourteen at the time, but she knew better than to look back. She hustled her way to a bus ticket and became something of a nomadic con artist. She was aces at convincing men she was older than she looked, and could easily scam them out of whatever she needed to get by. 

But it started to get old after awhile. 

So it was in her four star hotel room, wrapped in a plush robe and devouring Godiva chocolate that an eighteen year old Rey decided to hang up her con hat and go legit. 

West Virginia seemed as good a place as any. 

It’s quiet here in Madison. There’s a Dollar General and a decent Mexican restaurant and really—what more could a girl need? 

She faced some resistance when she first set up shop. The local Baptist church was skeptical of a psychic coming in—what with her palm reading and tarot cards—clearly she was a tool of temptation. One woman had chased after her at the grocery store, yelling that she was “dark sided.” But then she had predicted Edith’s husband’s affair and Debra’s promotion to vice principal at the elementary school. Now they look the other way if their parishioners choose to partake in her services. 

She plays it up for them—wears a scarf around her head and giant hoop earrings, gauzy skirts and sandals, flowing blouses that show off her tanned shoulders. The bohemian look is all part of the package. 

In truth, she still does get inklings, but she can’t ever really do stuff with them. She had a dream last week about Mrs. Wilkins’ cat passing, but what good would it have done to tell her? And last year when the dam broke, Rey woke up with the worst pain in her knees. Fucking useless. 

Today she has two scheduled appointments: a palm reading and a tarot reading. In the meantime, she sips Earl Grey and plays Candy Crush on her phone. She had a nice little nest egg with her when she moved to Boone County six years ago, and the little psychic shop has provided her enough income to get by. 

Rey Johnson lives a comfortable—if sometimes lonely—life. 

She runs out of lives in her game and refuses to pay $4.99 for more, so she decides to pull a card for herself for the day. She spreads out her tarot deck out over her table, lovingly draped in a battered but colorful paisley cloth. This is her favorite method for mixing up the cards in order to get a real feel for them. 

She meditates momentarily over the pool before gathering them back into order, cutting the deck three times for good measure. She then takes the top card and turns it over. The Hierophant stands there in his pious glory, the triple cross in his left hand, his right stretched to the sky. The card is upright and while she hadn’t been thinking about love, suddenly the image of a strong man with dark hair floats through her mind. She shrugs and takes it as a good sign, feeling a weird energy flow through her body. Tarot is more of a tool for self reflection than anything else, but of course, Rey would never tell her clients that.

Today should be an interesting day, to say the least. Suddenly, a whiff of cedar drifts across the parlor and fills her nostrils. She pauses with surprise, knowing she should be smelling the nag champa incense she lit when she first came down the stairs this morning. The front door jingles with the bell she had installed and with it comes a cool breeze that gives her gooseflesh. She has her first walk-in of the day.

* * *

Clyde Logan taps his metal finger on the edge of the steering wheel in time to the song. It took him awhile to get used to his fancy new arm, but now it feels more comfortable than the old one ever did. He likes driving—the freedom of the open road, the wind blowing through his hair—it makes him forget about his troubles for a little bit.

He thought once he had helped Jimmy with his hair-brained cauliflower scheme that his troubles might just be over. But then the FBI lady showed up. She’s been keeping an eye on them for the past week or so. He feels so silly for thinking she was flirting with him—as if a pretty woman like that would look his way. If it hadn’t been for Mellie’s new boyfriend, and his talents in hacking, they might’ve fallen straight into her trap.

As it is, no one would know that Clyde has money. He still rotates through the same ten t-shirts with his cargo shorts and camo pants. The only nice things he’s bought recently have been equipment for the bar. Still, under his sister’s advisement, he’s laying low for the time being. Jimmy hasn’t been around, choosing to hideout in Lynchburg with his daughter. And Mellie’s been working almost non-stop. 

Things will probably be fine, but Clyde can’t help wondering if this is somehow related to the Logan family curse. Sure Jimmy and Mellie always write him off, but what if it’s real? And more importantly, what if he’s the only cursed one?

Even before he lost his hand, he’d always felt like the odd man out, the black sheep. He was always floundering in Jimmy’s shadow. He was never the most handsome or talented. Which might be why he decided to enlist. At least then he felt like he was needed—that is, until the accident. The guilt never really went away. 

He stops at a traffic light. He’s driving through Madison now on his way back to Duck Tape. He doesn’t have to open the bar for a few hours still, but he usually likes to settle in early and have the place to himself before his first customers arrive. Then he looks over and sees something he swears he’s never noticed before, even though he’s driven this road his whole life—a neon sign for a psychic.

It calls to him for some reason—the vibrant lettering, the way it glows in the daylight. There aren’t any cars in the parking lot, but the sign says open. Before he can decipher what he’s doing, he clicks on his turn signal and turns into the driveway. If Clyde is superstitious enough to believe in curses, he’s definitely open minded enough to give a psychic a try. Maybe she’ll even know a thing or two about curse-breaking.

He kills the engine and unfolds his large frame from the pickup truck. 

* * *

Rey watches with rapt fascination as this bear of a man comes lumbering through her door. The way he dresses and the car he drives are very standard for Boone County, but that’s where his averageness ends. He’s easily a good few inches taller than most of the men she knows, with luscious, long dark hair and eyes that look like they’re full of ancient wisdom. His full brows are furrowed, and she gets the impression he’s forgotten how smiling works.

“You the psychic?” he drawls, stepping forward into the parlor where she’s still seated. It’s then that she notices his prosthetic arm, an expensive one by the looks of it.

“Last I checked,” she ribs him gently, a grin creeping at the corner of her mouth.

His face changes, softens. He’s looking at her like he’s never seen a woman before. “Oh,” he says softly, his plush pink mouth curving around the word. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

She’s never been able to shake the accent, though she isn’t quite sure where it’s from originally. She doesn’t know where _she’s_ from. But that’s not any of his business. “No, but I’ve been in Madison for nearly six years now.”

He finally comes over and takes a seat. “I’m Clyde, by the way. Funny thing is, I’ve driven this road a million times and never seen your shop before. The sign new?”

“Yes, actually. It’s only been up a few weeks.” She is delighted in his observantness. “I’m Rey.” She extends her hand out. 

The moment he takes her hand and shakes it, she feels a strange electricity pulse through her veins. It’s something she’s never experienced before. He looks a bit confused and definitely sheepish. “Don’t know why I decided to stop in, but I’m sure glad I did.”

“Well, maybe it was the universe telling you to come see me. Why don’t I give you a free reading?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Free?”

Rey smiles. “The first one’s always free—that’s how I rope you in.”

He smiles back, a toothy kind of grin that has her stomach doing somersaults. “I get it. Keep ‘em comin’ back for more.”

She winks. “That’s the idea.”

* * *

Clyde is flabbergasted. Rey is gorgeous—the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on, with her cute little nose and freckles—and she seems to be flirting with him? It’s probably just part of her work. Being charming must come naturally. Still, he’s never experienced such an immediate, intense attraction. When he touches her, it’s like his body comes alive. Sure, it’s just a handshake, but it holds such promise. He wonders if she feels it, too.

He watches fascinated as she shuffles her tarot cards and asks him to cut the deck. Her hands are lithe and quick, and he gets the distinct impression that she is a woman of many talents. As he goes to pull his hand back, she grabs it. “I like your ring.”

“Thanks. I wear it for good luck.”

The edges of Rey’s mouth curl, and he quickly imagines what kissing her might be like. What those hazel eyes might look like as he pleasured her. “Smart man. Keep away the bad energy.”

Clyde nods as she asks him to pick three cards. She flips over the first one which says “The High Priestess” on it. The other two cards have less elaborate pictures, both featuring cups.

Rey is full on smiling now, seemingly vibrating with excitement. “Oh, this is _very_ good.”

Clyde looks at the cards, not able to make heads or tails of them. One is upside down. “What’s it mean?”

“Cups are the suit of emotions and creativity… also love.” He gulps as she continues. It would be very embarrassing to pop a boner in the middle of a tarot reading. “Let’s start with the High Priestess. She’s upright, which is a good sign. Tell me, Clyde, do you have a woman in your life?”

He licks his lips before replying, “No, ma’am.”

“The High Priestess is about embracing the Divine Feminine, trusting your intuition, and being open to new things. Paired with the two of cups, I’d say you’re on the brink of a new relationship—or mutual attraction at the very least.”

He isn’t trying to read into it. Honestly, he’s not but—the way she’s biting her lip and fidgeting with her necklace—she’s gotta know what it’s doing to him. His voice comes out a little breathless when he says, “And this one?”

Her nose crinkles and it’s the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen. “The five of cups, upside down. I’d say maybe there’s something you need to let go of, that’s holding you back from your full potential.”

He frowns then, flexing the mechanical fingers of his prosthetic hand. “The Logan family curse.”

Rey tilts her head. “The what now?”

Clyde sits back in the chair, rubs his knee. “My brother and sister don’t believe in it, but we’ve had bad shit happen in my family for generations. I’ve always said it’s a curse. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about breakin’ curses now, would ya?”

She smiles. “I just might.”

* * *

If Rey believed in hell, she would almost certainly be going there for what she’s about to do. For as long as she can recall, men have always just been a tool for her. But there’s something different about Clyde Logan—something pure and exciting. The _want_ she feels is almost inexplicable. She knows now that it wasn’t just a coincidence she pulled the Hierophant for herself this morning. He factors into her future somehow.

She doesn’t think he’s _actually_ cursed, but his negative energy is so thick she could eat it like a soup. She steels herself and asks, “Have you ever heard of sex magic?”

He visibly flushes and god, it’s so hot. This large man reduced to a fumbling schoolboy. “S-sex magic?”

“The human orgasm is a powerful energy all its own,” she continues. “With the right visual, it can be a tool to manifest certain things in your life.” She stands and walks over to his side of the table. She holds out her hand. “I could show you.”

He looks confused for a moment. “I—are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”

She leans over his still seated form until her lips brush his ear. “I’m saying I wanna take you upstairs and fuck you till this curse is broken.”

Rey squeals as he pulls her down into his lap. “A woman like you can’t be saying things like that to a guy like me.”

Her heart is pounding and heat is rapidly spreading inside her body. She squirms a little and finds he’s already hard—and he feels big. “Why not?”

“Because I’ll take you up on it.” Then his lips are on hers, and she just melts.

Clyde is a good kisser, passionate and intense. She feels his hand on the back of her neck, kneading and soothing her. She nips his lower lip, and he moans, which she uses as an opportunity to slip her tongue inside his mouth. His taste and scent is warm, earthy. He’s the safety she never knew she always wanted in a man.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp and whispers, “Upstairs.”

Then she is leading him up to her small apartment that rests above the shop. It’s tidy, but it’s warm—covered in rich tapestries and oriental rugs with large bookshelves lined with crystals. She also has plants, everywhere. Some are hanging in handmade crocheted holders, some sit in the windows, and the rest are herbs that line the kitchen counters.

“You like to read,” he muses, temporarily distracted by taking in her apartment. “Me too.”

She glances back to look at him, his large hand still in hers. Could she have dreamed up someone more perfect? “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

“You have a really nice apartment,” he says as she leads him down the short hall.

“Wait till you see the bedroom.” She opens the door and her queen sized bed that’s decorated in shades of plum and apricot comes into view. She has a dramatic veil over the four posters to make it more alluring, but really, Clyde is the first man she’s had in here. This is normally her sacred space. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says, dropping her hand and turning her around to kiss her again. “Just like you.”

He’s looking at her with such heat and intensity in his eyes that she can barely concentrate. Somehow, she manages to remember what they’re supposed to be doing. “Okay, so how this works is you have to visualize your desired outcome and when you climax, direct that energy towards the visual. So, in your case, imagine a mirror or something breakable and then think about it shattering.”

He nods and swallows thickly as she starts to pull his t-shirt up. “Okay, I’ll try.” Then he stills her hand. “Wait a sec.” He reaches over and pops off his prosthetic. “Can I set this down somewhere?”

She nods and directs him to the bedside table. He sets it down gently and turns back to her. “How’d you lose it?”

“Iraq.” He doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t ask him to. She has more important things on her mind.

She moves to him and pulls his shirt off, revealing a man who is more built than he has a right to be. She can’t help her greedy hands as she runs them all over his shoulders, his pecs, his abs. “God, how are you real?”

He huffs a nervous laugh and brings his nervous fingers to her collarbone, slipping her gauzy blouse off one shoulder. “Been asking myself the same thing about you.”

She gets his pants off and pulls his boxers down. He’s huge, just like she suspected. “Fuck,” she breathes. Her mouth is actually watering at the thought of his beautiful cock in her mouth. “Sit,” she orders. 

He does.

* * *

Clyde thinks he should pinch himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming, but Rey’s hot breath is ghosting over the head of his cock and he can barely remember to visualize breaking the curse, let alone control his motor functions. It’s been so long since he’s been with a woman—and she is no ordinary woman.

“Can I?” She asks, kneeling before him. Fuck, her voice is sweeter than honey. He might die before he can come.

“Uh-huh,” he barely gets out and then her tongue is on him, licking a hot path up his shaft. “Jesus,” he mutters, his fingers pulling her scarf off to tangle in her chestnut waves. Everything about her is perfect.

She kisses his leaking tip delicately, like his dick is a precious gift or something, and then she takes him fully in her mouth, swirling her tongue around. _Oh._ He’s not going to last long if she keeps this up.

Finally finding his voice as she’s bobbing up and down, he growls, “Wanna see your tits, sweetheart.”

She releases him with a lewd pop, her spit running down his length and over her lips. He thumbs her bottom lip, wiping some of it away. She’s so beautiful it almost hurts. She smiles as she pulls her blouse up. She’s not wearing a bra. 

“Better?” she asks.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Can I?” She nods and he covers one of her breasts with his hand. They’re the perfect size, so round and perky. The dip between them, and her abs—fuck, she has _abs_ —are obnoxiously gorgeous. Maybe he crashed his truck earlier and this is heaven, but he can’t bring himself to care.

She moves her head back down to his cock, but he stops her. “Do you not want—?”

“Rey, you’re amazing. But if you keep that up, I’m not going to last much longer.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles, and he has to touch her again, his fingers tweaking her hardened nipple.

“What about you?” he asks, moving his hand to her other breast.

She stands and pulls her skirt off to pool at her feet, revealing more of her golden skin. She isn’t wearing underwear either—what kind of fantasy creature is this woman? “Well, if you insist.”

She straddles him, and he can feel her wetness against his hard length. He palms her firm thigh and kneads her peachy ass. She leans in and he chases her lips, melting against her again. “You… are a goddess.”

Rey braces herself on his shoulders, kissing down his jaw. He growls as she rocks herself against him. He loves how slick she is, her desire practically dripping onto him. She locks eyes with him again. “Are you visualizing?”

Of course he forgot. How can he think about anything other than her sun-kissed skin, her freckles, the breathy moans she’s making? “I am now,” he says, wrapping his other arm around her as she rises up to position herself.

He’s about to ask if she has protection, but then she’s already sliding down onto him and all coherent thought goes out the window.

* * *

His cock is perfect, thick and veiny. She needs him inside her now. Rey’s had an IUD since she was a teen, so she doesn’t even bother mentioning it as she notches his head at her entrance. As she eases down his length, she has to concentrate on her breathing—it’s just so much. She’s never been so full, in more ways than one. It’s almost like she can see the future in his eyes.

She rolls her hips and thinks about life and death, the rise and fall of empires, galaxies exploding with light. Their bodies were made for this—for each other, she thinks. 

“Rey,” he says her name over and over like a prayer and she supposes this is holy, this ritual, even if she is deceiving him. She’s never done sex magic before, she doesn’t even really know how it works, but fuck if this doesn’t _feel_ magical.

She writhes against him, using her hands on his wide shoulders for leverage. The angle is different, deeper, and Clyde is amazing—his breath coming out in little pants that hit her skin as she moves with him. But she needs more. “Touch me,” she pleads.

He braces her back with his left arm and brings his fingers to her clit. It’s good but—not what she wants. She slows down and drags his hand back to her behind. He looks confused for a moment until she tugs his other arm. “Is this okay?” she asks.

He gulps but nods, watching with something akin to awe as she brings his other arm down, rubbing the nub against her apex even as she slams onto his cock again and again. “Fuck,” he moans. His skin glistens with her juices.

Her speed increases, and she draws their foreheads together. “Don’t forget your mental image,” she says, kissing him once more before her thighs start to shake. Rey pauses her movement when her orgasm crashes over her, the spasms so intense she digs her nails into his neck and groans.

* * *

Clyde is in love. Well, he thinks this might be love. All he knows is he’s never felt like this before. And that Rey’s face when she comes is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He takes advantage of her momentary stilled state, her muscles still clenching around him, to flip her over onto the bed. 

She makes a little noise, but smiles as he braces himself with one arm and drives into her, chasing his release. “Can I come inside you?”

She nods and that permission is all he needs to send him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he pumps her full of his spend. He tries to lower himself slowly so as not to crush her, but her hand is on his chest as if she’s anticipated this. Maybe she really _is_ psychic.

When he slides out and pulls her to his chest, he kisses gently up her neck. “That was all bullshit, wasn’t it?” he whispers against the shell of her ear.

She shifts in his arms till she’s facing him “Maybe. Maybe not. But it sure was fun, right?”

Clyde chuckles and nibbles her earlobe. “Hell yeah, it was.”

He is about to doze off, content to spend the rest of the day in her bed and fuck over his regular customers, but then she bolts up and starts cursing.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She grabs her clothes off the floor and slips them back on, looking for her scarf to wrap around her hair which is now admittedly, a mess. He grins knowing it’s because of him.

“What?” He sits up and starts to grab his clothes, too. He should probably open the bar soon.

“I have an appointment in about—oh, five minutes.” She shrugs and grins. Yeah, he’s a goner.

“I guess I should get going then. I own a bar not far from here. Duck Tape.”

“Oh! I’ve driven by there before.”

“Yeah? You feel like stopping by when you’re done with your readings today?” He raises an eyebrow. _Please say yes._

Her smile widens, growing positively radiant. “Absolutely.” She rises up on her toes to kiss him again before heading downstairs. He follows behind and gets back in his car just as an old lady pulls up in her purple El Dorado.

**One Week Later**

Clyde assumes the sex magic must have worked, because now not only has the FBI lady left Boone County, but he also has a smoking hot psychic girlfriend. She shows up to the bar every night after she closes up shop, and he lets her drink whatever she wants for free. It’s not like he can’t afford it.

Tonight Joe Bang has come into the bar, and Clyde is none too happy to have the womanizer hanging around when Rey is here. He watches their interactions as Rey offers to draw him a tarot card. Intrigued, Joe puts his elbow up on the bar and tells her to go ahead. When she pulls it, a funny smirk crosses her lips before she explains. Then Joe is grumbling and flagging Clyde over for another shot before he walks out.

Rey laughs after he leaves, and Clyde turns to her, refilling her gin and tonic. “What’d you say to him?”

“Well _he_ asked what a pretty thing like me was doing with you, and I asked him if he wanted me to draw him a card. He got all cocky and said sure. I pulled ‘Death,’ which I tried to explain was merely an indicator of ending or transformation, but he grumbled something about ‘voodoo bullshit’ and left.”

Clyde laughs and pulls on the end of her scarf so she’ll lean in for a kiss. Her lips taste like lime. “I’m closing up soon. Your place or mine?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

And really, it doesn’t matter to Clyde, either. Regardless where they wake up in the morning, he knows that Rey will be in his arms, and then he’ll make burnt bacon and scrambled eggs. It’s a perfect scenario. “Let’s go to your place. I like your plants.”

She smiles brightly, and his heart starts beating faster. Deep down, he knows she’s the one. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, I have a 6 chapter Reylogan fic as well. It's called [Whiskey & Superstition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740751).


End file.
